When the Nighmares Come
by ilovetvalot
Summary: Hotch/Emily post-ep to "The Slave of Duty". Hotch tries to help Emily deal with her pain.
1. Chapter 1

**When the Nightmares Come**

**Chapter One**

Lifting the crystal wine goblet to her lips, Emily Prentiss leaned her head back against the soft buttery cushion of her couch. Taking a sip of the sweet red wine, she allowed it to slide down her throat as she concentrated on breathing. The therapist her mother had insisted she see years ago had sworn by this coping mechanism and it had served her well over the years. Clearing her mind, she concentrated on pulling the slow steady breaths in through her nose and releasing it in soft gusts through her mouth. Like clockwork, she felt her rapid heartbeat begin to slow and the tension slowly ebb from her neck. Fuck! She hated her memories. More than that, she hated the nightmares she knew would plague her precious sleep tonight. There wasn't any doubt that her past would return to haunt her tonight. It had been that kind of case.

Drawn from her depressing reverie, Emily turned her head toward her heavy wooden front door as a determined hand leaned against her buzzer. Frowning slightly, she knew it would be one of her well-meaning colleagues, intent on seeing if their normally poised co-worker had finally sailed over the proverbial edge of reason. Admittedly, she could see where they'd be concerned. Her actions tonight hadn't exactly been the status quo. The normally calm and professional Emily Prentiss had snapped…on a dangerous unsub, no less.

Shrugging, she wondered which one it would be…which sacrificial lamb had been sent to the slaughter. Probably JJ, she thought, forcing her leaden legs to walk toward the arched doorway. Possibly Dave. Less likely Reid. But peering through the peephole, she frowned. No such luck. It was the unlikeliest of all, especially given their current circumstances.

Aaron Hotchner.

As she stared through the small glass hole, she watched his lined face's frown deepen as he lifted his hand toward the brass door knocker, rapping it loudly. Steeling herself, she opened the door and stared into his ebony eyes. "Hotch," she said, her voice slightly hoarse to her own ears. "What are you doing here?" she asked, as if she didn't know.

"I got a phone call that indicated I might want to check on one of my normally unflappable agents. I knew they could only be referring to one person," Hotch replied evenly, his eyes sketching over her features, silently noting her pale features, the tense lines bracketing her small mouth. Most disturbing though was the look in her eyes. Lost. Hopeless. And so terribly sad.

"David Rossi has a big mouth," Emily retorted, gesturing him inside and catching her breath slightly as he brushed against her as he passed.

"Actually, you can blame Morgan. He came by my apartment after the jet landed. Seemed he wasn't quite sure what he could say to you that wouldn't get him shot. I offered to take the bullet for him," Hotch explained, shrugging out of his coat and draping it across the back of her overstuffed couch. Lifting his dark eyes to her, he lifted one side of his mouth in a half smile as he added, "But you've got good instincts. There _was_ a missed call from Rossi on my cell. I'm assuming he was going to impart the same information."

"I'm fine, Hotch," Emily said curtly, crossing her arms defensively across her chest as she stood looking at him as he dropped to her sofa, his long legs crossed as he assessed her with eyes that saw entirely too much.

"Evidently, you're forgetting who you're talking to, Prentiss," Hotch replied, leveling her with a speaking glance. "I was _there_ all those years ago, remember? On your mother's detail."

"And I don't talk about that. _Ever._" Emily said tersely, her clenched whitened face daring him to pursue this line of thought. Taking a deep breath, she asked, ever the perfect hostess her mother had raised, "Can I get you a glass of wine? Coffee? Tea?"

He took a moment before answering her, simply studying her features, her mannerisms as he deliberated the best course of action he could take. It was obvious that his friend was skating close to the edge this evening. And he certainly didn't want to be the individual that pushed her past the ledge. Slowly he nodded, "Coffee would be good."

"Give me just a moment. I'll start a pot," she offered, her words stiff as she turned toward the kitchen.

Watching Emily retreat, literally and figuratively, Hotch sighed. Here was a woman as damaged as himself, he thought, watching her slight body move down the hallway. Looking around the familiar living room, he shook his head at his surroundings. It was something out of a Thomas Kincaide painting. A shrink would say that she was over-compensating for the cold, sterile environment she'd been raised in. He remembered well the mansion that the Prentiss family had resided in during his tenure on her mother's detail. It had been coldly beautiful. Amazing to look at, but chilling to spend any amount of time within. The complete antithesis of this abode. This was cozy. Homey. The exact opposite of what anyone that knew Emily Prentiss would expect to find. Unless you knew her. Really knew her.

And he did know the enigma that was Emily Prentiss. Personally. Intimately. How many nights had he spent on this very couch during the long, arduous search for George Foyet? He'd lost count. But, she'd always allowed been there for him. Known he needed the security of another living, breathing creature during those long nights when keeping his sanity had seemed beyond the realm of possibility. So caught up in his recollections of those nights was he that he didn't hear her return to the room, her voice startling him when it came.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note: Hope you all enjoyed this little coda to "The Slave of Duty". Please let me know.**_

**When the Nightmares Come**

**Chapter Two**

"Where's Jack?" she asked him tonelessly, leaning against the doorframe as she stared across the room at the dark man that she'd spent many a night fantasizing about over the last few months.

"Jack wanted to spend the night with his cousins," Hotch explained. "Jessica's house is as close to a sense of normalcy right now as he can get. I couldn't begrudge him that comfort, no matter how much I miss him."

"He'll get used to it just being the two of you in time, Hotch," Emily replied quietly, her face softening as she thought of Aaron's son. "He just needs time."

"We all do," Hotch nodded. "We're learning as we go. But my problems aren't why I'm here tonight, Emily," Hotch reminded her.

"I don't know what you're talking about Hotch," Emily replied quickly, straightening reflexively as she spoke. "I don't have any problems," she added.

"I beg to differ, Prentiss," Hotch retorted, his voice hardening as he remembered what Morgan had told him regarding the chance she had taken with their unsub. "What the hell were you thinking?" he asked quietly, measuring his words as he looked at her. "What if he'd gotten your gun away from you?"

"He didn't," Emily shrugged. Why did men always insist on going to the worst possible outcome in their minds?

"That's not the answer I'm looking for, Prentiss," he said sharply. "You realize that if I was still your Unit Chief, you'd be sitting on your desk until the end of time." Damn it, didn't she realize he'd never survive watching another woman he cared for die? That he'd never survive a second round of that kind of pain.

"Good thing for me that you're taking a break," Emily muttered. Shooting him an inquisitive look, she added, "It _is_ still just a break , isn't it? I heard about Strauss' offer."

"There really are no secrets in this unit, are there?" Hotch asked, rolling his eyes.

"Evidently not. You're here, aren't you?" Emily growled, moving toward the black easy chair.

"Yes, I am," Hotch nodded seriously, "And I'm not leaving until you tell me what you were thinking."

"You never answered my question," Emily replied, trying to distract him. Discussing anything would be better than the conversation she could see without even looking that this man had in mind. "Did you accept Strauss' offer? Are you leaving the team?"

Staring at her for a long charged moment, Hotch finally shook his head. "No, I'm not," he said softly, allowing her a short reprieve. "Which means sooner or later you're going to answer for me for the incident this afternoon. Whether it's now or later is up to you, Prentiss."

"You already know why I reacted the way I did," Emily muttered, darting her eyes away from his. Talking about what had happened fifteen years ago was not how she had anticipated spending her evening when she'd finally returned home tonight. Quite the opposite. She'd had every intention of trying to drink those memories right out of her system.

"You never talk about it," Hotch murmured. "Not then, not now."

"I talked about it," Emily said with a soft bark of brittle laughter. "For all the good it did."

Surprised, Hotch lifted his head to gaze at her. "To whom, Emily? Who did you ever talk about it with?"

"Oh, mother hired a very proper therapist to try to talk to me. After a month of reliving the experience three times a week, I finally refused to see her anymore. It didn't help…the talking about it. It didn't change a blessed thing," Emily said bitterly, her fingers biting into the soft leather of her chair, marring its pristine appearance."

"It wasn't supposed to change anything, Em," Hotch corrected gently. "The therapy was supposed to help you deal with it."

Snorting derisively, Emily turned angry eyes toward the man on her sofa. "Deal with it?" she asked incredulously. "Tell me, Hotch, how exactly does one deal with being kidnapped for three days and forced to do things that I still can't bear thinking about without a bottle of wine running through my bloodstream? How does one handle being rescued only to be told that her tormentor, that human monster, was exempt from punishment. All because he had the good fortune to be a diplomat's son! How was anybody going to be able to help me deal with that?"

Clasping his hands between his knees, Hotch bowed his head as her question hung in the air around him. "I don't know, Emily," he said softly.

"Neither do I, Aaron," Emily replied, breathing heavily as some of the residual anger she held inside ebbed. Gazing across the gleaming surface of her polished coffee table at him, she asked, "Why are you really here, Aaron?"

Meeting her eyes with an honest gaze he replied bluntly, "Because now I guess it's my turn to hold you when the nightmares come."

"I never expected you to repay that particular debt, Aaron," Emily said, forcing herself to smile, grim though it was.

"I don't think of it that way," Hotch replied evenly. "But no matter what you say, I'm not leaving you here alone tonight."

Face tightening for a scant moment, Emily warned, "It won't be pretty."

"Fear and pain seldom is," Hotch replied, the depth of his understanding obvious.

Silent for a long moment, Emily finally nodded. Gratefully meeting his eyes, she could only form two words past her thickening throat. "Thank you."

_**FINIS**_


End file.
